


When Time Runs Out

by hayleyerin86



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcrux Hunting, Illvermorny, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Sex, Slow Burn, We're going on an adventure Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleyerin86/pseuds/hayleyerin86
Summary: Bookworm and know-it-all Hermione Granger is said to be the brightest witch of her age. After discovering a new life-event countdown charm, she and Draco Malfoy realize they have more in common than they thought. With an impending war in the near future, the pair put their differences aside to help Harry destroy horcruxes and figure out a common end game before time runs up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever posted publicly so please be gentle, but don't sugarcoat it for me. It came from a random writing prompt I saw on Pinterest and even though the pairing and some of the AU pieces are cliche, the prompt itself sparked an idea that I'd never seen written before. I've been working on it for almost a year now and have multiple chapters written, but without a beta I'm going back to reread chapters a few times to edit. If this is something that gets a decent response I'll keep posting chapters. I hope you enjoy!

   It was the end of July and even though the sun was beginning to paint brilliant neon colors in the sky outside, the air in Hermione Granger’s bedroom was still thick and muggy. She cranked the window handle a few times, allowing slightly cooler air to flood the tiny space as she wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She couldn’t remember a more humid summer in Britain, however the summers she spent at summer camp in the United States as a child were a different story. Set in the mountains by an expansive glistening lake and underneath the shadows of trees as old as the mountains themselves, she remembered the sweltering air that was like breathing in an open oven. She’d returned from her final summer at the camp last week and the weather had apparently followed her home.

  
    There was a large window fan stored under her bed and she bent down on one knee to retrieve it, feeling around for the handle without looking. A stack of old Hogwarts textbooks toppled over before her hand grasped onto the plastic and she heaved it out. If she was going to continue sorting through her half unpacked camp luggage and packing her school trunk, there needed to be some air circulation before she suffocated.

  
    She positioned the fan in front of the open window and plugged it in, but before she could turn back to finish packing the large trunk on the floor, she saw a tiny speck in the distance getting larger as it glided toward the upstairs window. She squinted for a moment and recognized the long-eared tawny owl carrying the familiar letter, her Hogwarts letter. More specifically, the list of books and supplies she would need for the semester. Ron had received his over a week ago and Hermione had been growing increasingly anxious, wondering if it would arrive before she left to spend the remainder of summer with Harry and Ron at the Burrow. Always organized and prepared, she had wanted to make the trip to Diagon Alley for everything she would need so she could pack it ahead of time. Of course she would accompany the boys on their trip to get their own supplies, but she had learned to expect the unexpected when with them and didn’t want to be distracted and forget something. She decided that if she had to go school shopping with them she would need to stay focused and find a way to keep them focused as well. Another list maybe? She mused.

  
    Taking the thick letter from the owl’s beak, she gave it a loving pat on the head before sending it on its way. The parchment envelope was thicker than her previous years’ supply lists. In the owl that Ron had sent earlier in the week he didn’t complain of having more items to buy than normal. Harry hadn’t either, not that he would because he had all the wizard money his parents left him when they tragically died. Maybe the thickness had something to do with the recent murder of their ancient Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. At the end of the term Harry and Professor Dumbledore had gone in search of Voldemort’s soul, hidden in an ordinary locket. The pair were pounced on by the Death Eaters upon their return to the school. Harry had hidden quickly, but had seen Dumbledore’s death, saw the green flash of the killing curse spark from a wand of someone they all trusted. Picking at the seal with her nail, she loosened it and slid the thick wad of folded up parchment out.  
  
Dear Miss Granger,  
    Congratulations, you have been chosen as Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! You are expected to arrive at the school, 2 days prior to the start of term on August 30th. A train will meet you at Kings Cross Station at platform 9 and 3/4 promptly at 11 a.m. If you wish to arrive by other transportation please inform us by owl immediately.         Enclosed you will find a list of Head Girl responsibilities, school rules, school supplies, and your pin. Please take the time to read all the information before your arrival.  
                    Sincerely,  
                    Headmistress Minerva McGonagall  
  
She was head girl? It came unexpectedly, always into and often leading whatever scheme Harry and Ron were into. Shock washed over her face as she held the letter out, then pulled it closer to her face as she read it again to be sure, chocolate eyes growing wider with each word confirmed. If she was Head Girl, then Harry had to be Head Boy. He hadn’t mentioned it, but maybe he was only just now getting his owl too. There were so many things she wanted to do as Head Girl, so many students to influence and many more privileges. Yet, she knew the importance of the responsibility too. The wizarding world, as well as the muggle world, was becoming a frightening place the stronger Voldemort grew. Students and parents would look to her to keep things calm, normal, safe. The excitement hit her suddenly, letting out a little squeal, the corners of her mouth turned upward, eyes glittering.

  
    “Mum! Dad!” she yelled, rising from her knelt position on the carpet by her trunk, her matchstick legs carrying her down the staircase as fast as they could. “You’ll never believe what just happened!”  
  
                                                                                                                 *******  
  
    The world had been closed in around her, rushing, spinning, dark, and suddenly with a whoosh of air Hermione was shakily standing on her feet again, thick tall grass beneath her feet and surrounding her. She noted that her apparating skills were still taking her a little off course, remembering how she accidentally apparated herself in the middle of a stream instead of on the shore when her father and she had gone fishing earlier in the summer. As she got her bearings she heard and smelled the tell-tell signs of morning, a mourning dove cooing somewhere in the distance, misty fog spattering her face. And what was that smell riding the breeze, blowing through her long bushy curls and winding up to her nose? Was it…bacon? A relaxed smile washed over her face as she took her trunk by the handle and began walking toward the towering, hodge podge, pieced together structure a quidditch field’s length away. The Burrow.

  
    Before she could even raise her petite fist to knock, the battered wooden door swung open. She was enveloped in a hug by her best friend’s mother, Mrs. Weasley, and by the smell of baking bread overpowering her nostrils.

  
    “Good Morning Hermione dear!” Molly Weasley greeted. “Come sit and have a spot of breakfast. The boys should be down in a minute.”

  
    Hermione left her trunk at the front door and followed the older woman with the slightly wild, strawberry hair into the kitchen. In the seven years she’d known Ron, the strange ramshackle of a house had become too familiar, a second home of sorts. It’s enchanted household items working away on their own were a comforting reminder of her special abilities, how blessed she felt to be part of this world. She remembered when she first got her Hogwart’s letter at 11-years-old and how Professor McGonagall had shown up at her front door. Her parents had refused to believe it until McGonagall had morphed into a whorl-patterned tabby cat. Now 17, she was considered the brightest witch of her age.

  
    Mr. Weasley was already seated at the head of the table, a puzzled look on his face as he sipped his coffee from a tiny flowered teacup.

  
    “Ah, Hermione! Just the person I needed to see about this contraption,” he said, looking up from the telephone pieces in front of him on the table. “What exactly is it?”

  
    “This?” she asked in disbelief, picking up the receiver end of the phone and examining it. “It’s called a telephone.”

  
    “Telephone,” Mr. Weasley repeated.

  
    “Yeah, you put this end to your mouth to talk and this end to your ear to listen,” Hermione explained, holding the phone up to her ear. “This curly-looking cable goes into the receiver and the other end goes into this part.” She picked up the boxy object with the number pad and attached the two pieces with the cable. “This other cable goes into a hole in the wall that telephone men have to come install,” she said pointing to the longer, straighter cable on the side of the telephone.

  
    “And what exactly am I listening for or talking to?” Mr. Weasley asked curiously, taking the receiver from her hands.

  
Hermione gave a small laugh, remembering how clueless wizards were to Muggle objects. Arthur Weasley worked for the Ministry with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department and had always been fascinated by how Muggle objects worked. It was a different type of magic to him.

  
    “You use it to talk to people from anywhere,” Hermione slowly explained. “Each telephone has its own number assigned to it and people enter that number here and talk to you. Where did you get it from?”

  
    “Long story,” he said, suddenly turning solemn. “It had a bit of dark magic attached to it. One of your classmates, Creevy was the last name, reported it to the Ministry late last night.”

  
Arthur Weasley looked uncomfortable, shifting his eyes down, then to his wife Molly, and back to Hermione nervously. Molly gave Arthur a sad look over her shoulder from the sink. The Creevy’s were in her house at school, Colin just a year younger, and Hermione could tell something bad had happened.

  
    Just as she opened her mouth to ask for more details, a familiar thundering noise came from above followed by what sounded like a herd of cattle coming down the staircase in the center of the house. A few moments later at the bottom appeared Ron and Harry and she couldn’t imagine how two boys could make such a ruckus. They were laughing and playfully shoving each other into the kitchen, oblivious to her presence. Harry and Ron both were skinnier than when she had last seen them at the end of the school term, the latter’s pants fitting very loosely around his legs. Ron looked like he had got into a fight with the prickle bush outside and lost. Tiny scrapes tinged red with blood covered his face, neck and arms. Harry had a gash across the top of his hand that looked like it had been recently healed badly by magic. Both wore a thin scruff on their jaw and she noticed how Ron’s matched his fiery red hair. They had picked up on her presence and Hermione didn’t realize she was grinning admiringly at her friends until they crushed her in a double hug.

  
    “Hermione, we’ve missed you loads,” Harry said, beaming at her behind wire rimmed glasses. “We’ve got so much to tell you.”

  
    “Harry,” she started, taking his hand in hers to look at the gash closer. “What happened?”

  
    “Later,” he replied quietly, leading her to an empty seat at the table.

  
She noticed that stony serious tone and questioned to herself what the pair had really been up to this summer. She fought with the urge to yank them both back upstairs to explain themselves, but Mrs. Weasley interrupted the thought and Hermione finally sat at the table, giving the boys both a concerned, skeptical look.

  
    “Did Ron tell you the good news?” Mrs. Weasley asked proudly, her chest puffing out a bit.

  
    “No,” Hermione said, now looking at Ron inquisitively.

  
    “Aww, Mum. Don’t start in again,” he groaned, shoving an entire sausage into his mouth.

  
    “He got Prefect,” Mrs. Weasley said proudly.

  
Harry looked up from his round-framed glasses, eyes laughing at his friend’s embarrassment and Hermione was reminded of her own good news.

  
    “That reminds me,” she stated cooly, placing her palms face down on either side of her breakfast. “I’ve been chosen as Head Girl.”

  
    “That’s wonderful news!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, kissing her cheek hard as she loaded more eggs onto Hermione’s plate from the pan she was holding.

Ron looked glad to be upstaged, relief washing over his features that his mother wouldn’t continue to boast about him being a Prefect. Molly had always been the warm, motherly type who considered her children’s friends one of her own. Having had two sons who’d been Head Boy before, she would count Hermione’s Head Girl assignment as the third in her family.

  
    “Harry, are you Head Boy?” Hermione asked.

She had always assumed if she was chosen for Head Girl then naturally McGonagall would choose Harry to be Head Boy. It would be the smart thing to do with the darkness that faced them. They could protect the students from Voldemort and his Death Eaters best together. With Ron by their side as Prefect no one would be able to stop them, question them. They could break all the rules they needed to find a way to defeat Voldemort; influence any student to join Dumbledore’s Army.

  
    “No,” Harry looked down at his food. “But, I didn’t want to be.”

  
Everyone looked at Harry concerned and slightly suspicious, everyone except Ron. Now Hermione definitely felt like the boys were keeping secrets from her. And not only her, but from Ron’s family as well. They all looked at Harry as if he was upset about the ordeal, but Ron continued to stuff his ginger face with pastries and breakfast meats like it was no surprise. Why wouldn’t Harry want to be Head Boy? Both his father and mother had been Heads. McGonagall obviously favored him because he was “the chosen one.” And, surely Dumbledore’s portrait in his old office had input into McGonagall’s decision.

  
    “If it’s not Harry, then who is?” Hermione wondered out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see what's coming next from a mile away, so I'm going ahead and posting the next two chapters as well. This is the cliche part, but I promise it will begin to get a less cliche after these first few chapters. Some things needed setting up first.

   Hermione had waited all day to ask the boys more questions. Why did they have scratches, scrapes, and bruises? Why were they both skinnier than she remembered, yet apparently had the appetites of giants by the way Harry stuffed a pile of bacon in his mouth that morning? What were they keeping from her? She had noticed the deep violet, yellowish green blob of a bruise on Ron’s back earlier when they had gone school shopping at Diagon Alley. Ron was getting fitted for a new Quidditch uniform and had removed his shirt to try on the tighter-fitting maroon material when she noticed it stretching from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. She had given Harry a questioning look, but he had quickly turned his attention on Ron’s sister and Gryffindor Quidditch co-captain, Ginny. They had been a couple since the spring of last term and while Ron was slightly disgusted by their relationship, Hermione had always thought of her closest female companion’s crush on Harry as sweet. But, even Ginny had been acting odd today. The normal talkative straight-haired redhead had been dismissive and fidgety. She had tried to casually discuss their summers while browsing the stacks at the bookstore and Ginny kept reversing the conversation back to Hermione. Twice, Ginny had clumsily tripped over the stone floor, dropping the two books she had been carrying, or bumped into displays nearly knocking them over. Something was distracting her, something more than having butterflies in the stomach for Harry.

  
    Now, the four friends laid on their backs in the field outside the Burrow, the summer grass pricking Hermione’s bare legs. The day had cooled down immensely once the sun sank below the horizon, fading the sky into a deep violet. Firebugs danced in the taller, golden wheat grass ahead of them. Their warm glow followed by the rustling and cursing of gnomes too hard of seeing to catch the insects momentarily deterred their thoughts of Voldemort, school, and the danger that seemed to lurk around every corner these days. They had just finished dinner, bellies full of a delicious, thick meat and potato stew Mrs. Weasley had fixed. And, combined with a gentle wind she had almost been lulled to sleep when Harry spoke.

  
    “Hermione,” he started, sounding unsure, then sitting up and reaching into the front of his shirt pocket. “You should know Ron and I spent the summer searching for horocruxes.”

  
    He placed the locket on the ground at her knobby knees. Taking it in her hands, it hung from a silver looped chain and had a large, glittering yellow stone on the front, surrounded by an ornate silver.  
    “I thought we had figured out it was a fake,” she said, brows scrunched in confusion.  
She tried to open the locket to reveal the rolled up piece of parchment they had found inside at the end of term when Harry had brought it back, but instead she was given a sharp sting. Unexpected, like a bite from a wasp, she threw the locket down and clenched her hand in pain.

  
    “This isn’t the same locket,” Harry said. “It’s the real one. And, what you just felt there was one of the protections Voldemort put on it.”  
    He began to explain how he had been rummaging through things the Order of the Phoenix left at his dead godfather’s home, Grimmauld Place, when he came across a name in a photo album.

  
    “Sirius’ brother’s name was Regulus Arcturus Black. R.A.B. just like the initials on the parchment,” Harry explained.

  
    “And then Kreacher turned up,” Ron added, taking the locket from the ground and stowing it away in the pocket of his trousers.

  
    Hermione remembered the first time she had met the Black family’s house elf. He’d been a rude, snarky thing muttering under his breath the word ‘mudblood’ when around her. The word was vile, uncivilized, like little boys thinking all girls had cooties and they could catch them if they even looked at a girl. Because Hermione was muggle-born, meaning both her parents couldn’t do magic, some older wizarding families looked down on her kind and thought magic should be limited to only pureblood wizards. Families like her schoolmate, Draco Malfoy, that came from a lot of old money did their best to rid the wizarding world of muggles, mocking them and possibly doing more to harm them on Voldemort’s orders.

  
    “Kreacher noticed that we had the fake locket,” Ron continued. “And at first the git laughed at us and mocked us, but then he offered up information and told us about Regulus when he found out we wanted to destroy it.”

  
    The boys continued to explain how Sirius’ brother Regulus had been a Death Eater and discovered that the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was using Salazar Slytherin’s locket as a horocrux. Voldemort borrowed Kreacher one afternoon to hide the locket and left him for dead in a cave. But, being a house elf Kreacher used his own magic to apparate back to Grimmauld Place and warn Regulus of Voldemort’s plans. This scared Regulus to the point he didn’t want to be a Death Eater any longer and he defected. Then, he asked Kreacher to take him to where the locket was hidden. In the cave he drank poison from a rock basin in the middle of an underground lake to get to the horocrux. A replica locket with a note inside was left for the Dark Lord, and he gave Kreacher the real locket to take home and destroy, dying a heroic death, the poison taking every last ounce of energy he had until he fell into the lake.

  
    “So he just gave you the locket?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

  
    “Well…not exactly,” replied Harry, running a finger across the gash on his hand. “We had to go searching for it. The house had been robbed in the years since and Kreacher didn’t know what had become of it.”

  
    “And they’re right lucky they didn’t get taken by the Ministry when their foul polyjuice potion wore off before they could say the word ‘Quidditch,’” Ginny interjected, standing up huffily.

  
    “You should have sent an owl for me,” Hermione added, beginning to feel a little angry and dejected herself. “I could have helped. I should have been there to help, especially with polyjuice. How in the world did you ever brew it on your own?”

  
    It wasn’t like she had been particularly busy that summer. Sure, she’d gone on a few vacations with her parents and went to camp for a few weeks. But she’d been waiting, hoping to hear from her friends. She felt restless not doing enough to avenge Dumbledore’s death. All she could do was wait for Harry to figure out his next plan of action and insist she and Ron help him.

  
    “At least her polyjuice potion would have lasted longer,” Ginny continued. “I should have told you as soon as I suspected they were brewing it Hermione. I’m sorry.”

  
    Harry and Ron had immediately gone to Hogwarts in hopes of catching Professor McGonagall before she left for the holiday. Kreacher had given them only one idea to run with and they needed to speak with the professor quickly for the locket may have been hidden in the Slytherin Dungeons. Bursting into the Headmistress’ office carrying an identical fake horocrux wasn’t how Harry and Ron had intended spending their summer holiday, however they weren’t there for long. Before McGonagall’s shocked eyes caught Harry’s he had found the real locket, only it was in a painting on the wall, a painting of a previous Headmistress.

  
    “You’re extremely lucky Umbridge didn’t Avada you right on the spot,” Ginny stomped.

  
    Harry stood now too, pulling his frustrated lover by her fingertips to the edge of the wheat field. Hermione could barely see their dark outlines in the near distance, but could tell that Ginny was upset. Her arms were crossed, head down. Harry hapheartedly trying to console her and then finally wrapping both arms around her entire body, letting her forehead rest against his chest.

  
    “Ugh,” Ron groaned, side-eyeing the couple. “Ginny should have never got mixed up with Harry. Her worrying has slowed us down getting rid of that bloody locket.”

  
    Ron and Harry had not only spent their summer searching for the missing horocrux, but also escaping the Burrow to try and destroy it. Ginny seemed to be around every corner, always hanging on to Harry. Just when they would make plans, she would foil them like she had transfigured herself to be a fly on the wall eavesdropping. It hardly gave the pair of friends time to plot ways to destroy the horocrux, let alone leave the house to do so.

  
    “That gash on Harry’s hand,” Ron started, moving closer to Hermione and keeping his voice hushed. “Was from our first attempt to try and kill it. We walked about 5 miles from here into the woods and started a fire. Harry waited until it had gotten really hot before he threw the locket in. Flew back out at him instantly, burned and sliced him wide open. It’s healed some, but ever since Ginny will hardly let him out of her sight. She goes mental with a billion questions every time we try to leave the house. Tricked her into thinking Harry was in the toilet last time and that story worked until I came back with these last week.”

  
    “You don’t think spending hours in the toilet would have made her suspicious?”

  
    Ron gave a small laugh and Hermione wasn’t sure if he thought their trickery was funny or if how he got all those tiny scratches was funny. It wouldn’t surprise her if he found both were humorous. Ron had a way of finding amusement in everything, no matter how small and dumb something was. Even after vomiting slugs for a week when a spell he had intended for Malfoy rebounded in their second year at Hogwarts, he’d made corny puns and laughed at himself. Part of that could be attributed to feeling inferior as Harry Potter’s sidekick or the fifth Weasley child, even if he was bulkier and more muscular than the rest of his siblings. She still admired the way he had with making serious situations feel more lighthearted.

  
    “And how exactly did you get those?” she asked, absently reaching out to touch one of the scratches on his arm.

  
    He didn’t pull it away and with that gesture Hermione began running the pads of her fingers across the length of each knick until she got to his hand. He began to answer, becoming aware of her touch and his voice faltered for a second.

  
    “I…um…they…The locket had some sort of avis protection charm on it. I tried to use the killing curse on it, thinking if it’s part of Voldemort’s soul I could kill it like he would kill me. Dozens of bloody birds came out of it and attacked me. Kinda funny now that I think about it.”

  
    He gave another chuckle at the memory. So he had found both amusing.

  
    “Ronald Weasley!” She chided. “You conjured the killing curse?! What were you thinking?!”

  
    “What would you do in the face of Voldemort Hermione?” he defended. “You wouldn’t kill him? Would you allow him to kill you? Maybe you could both use silly little defensive spells until one of you tired yourself out and died of sleepiness? Maybe you could bake him some cookies too.”

  
    “That’s not what I meant,” she said flatly, taking her hand from his.

  
    “What did you mean then? A part of his soul was latched onto the locket. It might as well have been him in the flesh.”

  
    “I don’t know,” she answered in a quiet voice. “I guess I just didn’t want to see you as some sort of dark wizard, using a killing curse.”

  
    “Wake up from your little world of sunshine and daisies Hermione. He’s getting stronger. He’s building an army too. And pretty soon we’re all going to have to make the choice the use that spell or…or…”

  
    “Or end up like my parents or Sirius,” Harry finished for his flustered, agitated friend. “Give me the locket Ron. It has a bad effect on you when you have it.”

  
    Ron dug into his pocket, handing Harry the locket defeatedly. Since they had acquired the locket a few weeks ago they had been taking turns holding onto it. It didn’t leave their sight and had stayed between Harry, Ron, and Ginny. However, since Ron had tried to kill it with the killing curse it had been affecting him in a negative way. When he had the locket he was mean, challenging Harry and his entire family and trapping them in feverish arguments.

  
    As soon as Ron placed it in Harry’s hand he pushed it toward Hermione.

  
    “You take it tonight Hermione,” he said, putting the piece of jewelry in her hands and covering them with his own. “Maybe you’ll have better luck coming up with a way get rid of it.”  
      
                                                                                                                    *******

 

Hermione could not have been more excited to go back to Hogwarts early. When she had arrived at the Burrow a couple weeks ago the thought of going back to school two days earlier, without her two closest friends had sounded dreadful. It being their final year at Hogwarts, this would be the last time they would spend the hazy dog days of summer before school packing and preparing. However, after learning about the locket and spending time with it, she could not wait to get as far away as she could from the gaudy piece of golden jewelry.

  
    It was difficult to explain the way it made her feel when she wore it around her neck, hiding it just underneath the fabric of her cotton t-shirts. It burned against her skin, made her blood feel like it was boiling so hot that steam could have risen up off her. Maybe it knew she was muggle-born and it was upset. Ron had spoken of it like it was Voldemort himself. Two nights ago she could have sworn she heard it whispering to her, chanting in a raspy, airy voice “You are not worthy to lead your school. You shame us.”

  
    She knew it fed off of Ron’s insecurities. No one really thought of him as Harry’s sidekick or the “not chosen one” as the locket had endearingly called him during his short stints with it. Still, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if there was some inkling of truth to what it had whispered to her. It had a way of making her doubt herself, something she would never normally do. Even in the riskiest of situations she had always been confident things would go well, maybe all hell would break loose still, but in the end things turned out well for the most part. As of recent though she questioned her every move. Did this jumper make her look frumpy? Would her over-confidence ultimately lead her to failure because sometimes that’s just how karma works if you believe in that stuff? Were those butterfly feelings in her stomach the night she traced Ron’s scratches mean something more or did it mean she was getting ill? One thing was for certain, if the dozens of spinning questions in her mind didn’t stop, then she really would be ill…all over Mrs. Weasley’s mustard and paisley sofa. The thought of not knowing who was named the other head still bothered her and many of her questions surrounded that title, but it was something she could look past as long as she was far away from that taunting piece of jewelry.  
    Two days, she reminded herself, it was only two days she had to be separated from her friends. Hermione had never felt so alone, like she was walking into complete darkness without a flashlight or even a wall to guide her, then she remembered it.

  
    “Umm, Hermione,” Ron gestured to her neck as she stepped into the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder.

  
    Ron leaned forward a bit hesitant, his movement clumsy, and without thinking began to lift the necklace from her delicate neck. He pulled it slowly up around her head, over the curled locks in her loose ponytail making sure to not catch the chain and pull strands of it astray. Just as he clasped the necklace into his palms he looked up to realize his face was inches away from Hermione’s. She looked down, quick to not catch his gaze for long. He backed away, locket in hand, unsure of how to make the simple phrase “see you later,” “have a safe trip,” or even “goodbye” come from his mouth. Harry looked at his friend, confused as to why Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t.

  
    “We’ll see you in a couple of days,” Harry said, taking over. “Send us an owl and let us know you made it safe?”

  
    “Of course,” Hermione said, her features finally relaxing as she met Harry’s spectacled bright green eyes and readied herself to release the floo powder in her hand. “King’s Cross Station.”

  
    She threw the ash-like powder onto the stone of the fireplace and she disappeared in a flash of neon green light. She reappeared with her trunk in a desolate crevice tucked away from the crowds of the train station. It was damp and smelled moldy, brick surrounding her to the left and right. Careful to not step out when a muggle walked by and raise suspicion, she listened for the telling sound of footsteps coming and going. When she was sure there were none she stepped into the light, wheeling her trunk behind her along the cobblestone. Ahead there were men and women hurrying to their destinations in suits or pencil skirts, freshly starched and ironed. Some were talking to the person they were walking with, but neither looked at the other or smiled. Simply looked down or straight ahead, absently, in their own world as they made their way out of the station and to their jobs.

  
    Platform 9 3/4 wasn’t far from the crevice she had just stepped out of and without even glancing around to see if anyone was watching she stepped into the brick column. On the other side awaited the large black train to take her to another home away from home. Usually on this side she was met with throngs of parents, students, and their younger siblings all hugging or crying. However, today no one was there. No friends, no family, nothing was familiar about the emptiness of the platform. She wasn’t even sure if she was there on the right day until suddenly the train came to life, steam hissing. A door unlatched somewhere and she spun around to see which car it came from. Nothing about the cars in front of her had changed so she began to walk toward the back of the train.

  
    She stopped when she came to the last car. The door was open, but no one was there to greet her or tell her to come aboard. Of course, she thought, because the Heads and Prefects are always posted at each car to help students on. Still, there wasn’t even anyone to take her trunk away to the luggage car. Looking at her watch she saw it was two minutes until eleven and decidedly lugged the enormous trunk across the threshold onto the train.

  
    The car was empty, like all the others. She could have stripped down to her underwear and run up and down the aisle without a soul knowing…if she wanted to that is. Hermione had never been daring in that way before. Sure, she would fight dark wizards in the middle of the Ministry any day, but baring herself for all or even one to see was a different story. Prude wasn’t the right word, maybe overly cautious of herself. She had no desire to flaunt her body to the boys in her grade, unlike Lavender Brown who had jumped Ron’s bones every time he smiled at her last term.

  
    Suddenly, the train lurched forward sending Hermione back hard into a seat. She stayed sitting, confused as to where the other Head could be. Maybe there was no Head Boy. Maybe McGonagall hadn’t decided who to choose yet. Maybe she wanted Hermione’s input before she chose the Head Boy. There were a million ‘what if’ questions that filled her head. Again, she studied the train car around her for any sign of another witch or wizard. A wand, a trunk, a jacket, chocolate frog wrappers, anything, but all was clean. Surely they didn’t stick the other Head on a different car, she thought. The last car was traditionally reserved for the Heads and Prefects. Still, Hermione felt the need to try and figure this out, like she was given the task to solve the puzzle of who her partner would be. Maybe they were in another car trying to figure out who she was too.

  
    The door to the car ahead had a glass window revealing more emptiness. Hermione pressed her wand to the lock.

  
    “Alohamora,” she whispered, waiting for the door to unlock and slide open.

  
    Nothing happened. She gave the door a tug, but it had stayed locked. She knocked, pressing her face to the glass and cupping her eyes and forehead to see better inside. The day was clear and the sun shone in bright streaks upon the empty seats inside. No sign of life was in there either. Finally resorting to the assumption she was alone on the train, she settled back into the velvet seat and rested her head against the window. The countryside flashed by in wisps of trees, sunshine, sky, craggy rocks, and soon her eyelids felt heavy.

                                                                                                              *******

  
    When the train halted to a stop at the station in Hogsmeade, Hermione was startled awake. She blinked a few times, remembering she had been put on the train alone. Would she be alone when she exited the train too? Maybe she would have to walk all the way to Hogwarts with her trunk, dragging it down the dirt and gravel path the carriages took. Outside the weather had turned dreary. The sky was overcast and even though it was nearly two in the afternoon it was turning dark. A few people littered the train station, but for the most part it was bare too. Except for the group of men she had seen scatter in a hurry when the train pulled in no one else was there.

  
    Hermione stepped off the train car. The air was also noticeably cooler, like it had just rained, but there were no puddles, no dripping eves around the station, and it didn’t smell like it normally did after a rain. It smelled dusty, a little like smoke from something that wasn’t burning wood. Burning stone maybe? Could stone even burn? She stood confused in the middle of the empty station for a long minute wondering how she would make it to Hogwarts in time walking. Surely they would send someone looking for her if she didn’t show up on time. It wasn’t like her to be late.

  
    “Hey there ‘ErMione,” a booming voice said from behind her. “Sorry I’m late.”

  
    “Hagrid,” Hermione said spinning around, startled and relieved at the same time.

  
    She greeted the hairy giant with a crushing hug. Finally, she had found some sort of normality.

  
    “I was afraid I was going to have to walk all the way to the castle,” she started. “No one was on the train.”

  
    “Well, technically I’m no suppose ter’ say nothing, but the head boy arrived separately,” Hagrid said in a hushed tone, glancing around like the loads of nonexistent people were eavesdropping.  

  
    “Who—?”

  
    “I’ve already said too much,” he rushed, picking her trunk up with ease and carrying it under his massive arm.

  
    He led her off the train platform toward a carriage. Until she had seen Sirius die, the thestrals that pulled the carriage had been invisible to her. Now though, she could see the bone-skinny black horse-like creatures plain as day. Upon seeing them for the first time last year Harry had told her and Ron they were harmless. They still gave her the creeps, reminding her of the death she witnessed over and over again. Hagrid lifted her up into the carriage by the waist and climbed in behind her, the carriage groaning when he eased himself down on the skinny bench beside her.

  
    “Was your summer well?” she asked, trying to make small talk, but really hoping he would let the cat out of the bag about who the other Head was. “Did you spend it here?”

  
    “Fang and I t’weren’t here much this summa,” he replied, looking at something far off in the distance.

  
    She couldn’t imagine where a giant and his giant dog would go for a vacation without being seen. But, then again Hagrid spent a lot of time in the Forbidden Forrest and probably spent any time away from the castle in the woods of Scotland or nearby Ireland. Even as big as he was, he could probably go unnoticed for days if the trees were thick enough.

  
    They mostly sat in silence during the ride to the castle. Hagrid asked about Harry, but she felt like he had already known how Harry was. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, at least not for long. Instead, they darted in every direction except at her, like he was expecting to meet someone and they were late. His demeanor made her think he was trying to keep a secret, something he knew and wasn’t allowed to tell, something much bigger than who the Head Boy was.

  
    When they finally made it to the castle, she slid off the edge of the carriage without help and began to take the steps to the grand front entrance slow. The castle felt larger with no one else around, more intimidating, especially now that Dumbledore was gone. She could feel Hagrid following behind, looming above her.

  
    “I’ll jus be takin’ this to yer room,” he said, sounding slightly relieved to be rid of her. “Go on up to Professor Dumble—oh, err McGonagall’s office. She’s been waitin’ on ya.”

  
    Hermione nodded, even more uneasy now that Hagrid was parting. She was on her own…again. This was it. She hoped it would be another Gryffindor, but a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff would be a good teammate too. A Ravenclaw would have creative ideas, something she lacked, and those Ravenclaw boys weren’t bad to look at either. A Hufflepuff would agree with her and be easy to get along with. They were sure to keep the best snacks around as well.  
  One thing she was sure of. McGonagall wouldn’t put her with a Slytherin.

                                                                                                                 
   


	3. Chapter 3

“Bloody fucking no way,” Draco shouted when the massive wooden door to Headmistress McGonagall’s office slid open.

  
    “Mr. Malfoy!” the aging witch chided in a sharp tone that had the portraits on the walls grabbing at their ears in discomfort, as if pictures could feel anything. “I’ll have none of your foul language. I’ll put a charm on that vile mouth of yours faster than you can repeat that horrid word.”

  
    He had more than an inkling of an idea it would be Hermione Granger that would walk into McGonagall’s office and further ruin the almost-disgusting biscuit he had been nibbling on. But, even though there had been plenty of time to wrap his head around that fact, a red hot angry still burned in his veins. How could she bloody well not be Head Girl? She had top marks in all her classes, she reeked of Gryffindor loyalty, and she was Harry fucking Potter’s best friend, and probably his brain too Draco thought. For the last few weeks he had questioned why he’d been made Head Boy in the first place. Why not the entire golden trio? McGonagall obviously favored them all, being in Gryffindor and the head of their house. Why was he even allowed back at Hogwarts after being ordered to kill Dumbledore? He was a known Death Eater to his professors and most of Slytherin House, the youngest and only in the castle. Surely no one would feel safe having him around, even less so being a Head.

  
    To his delight, the young witch (if you could call her that) seemed just as astonished and repulsed to see him too. Hermione narrowed her eyes, crossed her robed arms, almost stomping the rest of the way into the sparsely decorated room that had previously belonged to a flamboyant Dumbledore.

  
    “No way!” she barked, marching within a foot of the platinum-haired boy. “I will not—."

  
    “Do you think I’m any more thrilled to find out I have to work with a filthy little know-it-all mudblood?” Draco seethed, his cocky smirk disappearing.

  
    “Enough!” asserted McGonagall, putting herself between the two students, arms outstretched to put some distance between them.

  
    Hermione leaped backwards at her professor’s swift defensive motion.

  
    “But—,but you know what he is,” Hermione stuttered. “What makes you think he won’t try to do the same to other students, to me while I sleep?!”

  
    Draco began to feel his skin grow hot as she accused him of things she had not witnessed, things she knew nothing of. Would he have killed Dumbledore last year? Maybe if Voldemort had shown up, or his father. He knew one of the Death Eaters would do it before he had the chance. They were all eager to please the Dark Lord. He, however, had paused momentarily because of a glance he shared with Snape and the next second Dumbledore was plummeting from the astronomy tower. He had always admired Snape, his potion skills, his hatred for the-boy-who-lived. But now, he was unsure what to think of his favorite teacher. A professor killing another professor, a Headmaster at that, had taken Draco by surprise. More so, Snape may have been a reclaimed Death Eater, but he was not your typical follower. He didn’t have a desire to go to the ends of the earth to please the Dark Lord.

  
    As Hermione continued to rant, Draco continued to dig his fingers into the chair’s arm until his knuckles were as white as the ghosts that roamed the stone corridors.

  
    “He didn’t though Miss Granger,” McGonagall interrupted.

  
    Was McGonagall really taking up for him? Surely he had heard it wrong. He hadn’t been listening to the insufferable mudblood’s whines, instead using all his energy to concentrate on not hexing her into oblivion.

  
    “I suggest you and Mr. Malfoy learn to get along with each other,” McGonagall said, looking Draco square in the eyes and snapping his mind back to the headmistress’ expansive stone-walled office. “The sooner, the better. You have a lot to accomplish in the next few days. I’ll show you to your room now.”

  
    He didn’t respond, just kept silent, staring angrily at the stone floors as they walked, limestone turning to slate, turning to marble, then back to limestone when they reached the shifting staircases. When McGonagall stopped at a large portrait of a long-mustached man wearing a partial suit of armor, Draco realized he hadn’t paid a bit of attention to how they had gotten there. Warm afternoon light splayed against the walls ahead and they had gone up a few sets of stairs so he knew they were in a tower, which one east or west he had no idea. He was far from his comfort zone in the dungeons of Slytherin house.

  
    “Chocolate pudding,” the old witch spoke the password, such simple, child-like words sounding foreign to her tongue.

  
    The portrait swung back to reveal a wooden door behind it and McGonagall produced a set of worn, iron keys from her emerald robes.

  
    “But professor, we’ve never needed keys to get into a common room,” Hermione said, confused.

  
    As the trio entered a spacious, two-story room McGonagall began to tell them about the new responsibilities that came with their position.

  
    “The pair of you must be sure that each common room is locked up tight each night after dinner. Put protection charms on the entrances. I don’t even want Prefects roaming the halls. Afterwards, you’ll lock yourselves in for the night with these charmed keys.”

  
    For the first time, Draco gave Hermione a look other than disgust, uncertainty, even though his sneer read otherwise. McGonagall knew it was only a matter of time before Voldemort found his way into Hogwarts, or more of Draco’s kind found their way back in. The Dark Lord was growing more powerful, the number of followers growing more out of fear than loyalty. The wizarding world had been panicked the last few months, families hiding out, disappearing completely to save themselves from the inevitable destruction, death, and questioning. However, Draco knew no one who would run away, only ones who would run into Voldemort’s arms like he was a long lost lover. Death Eater headquarters had been stationed at the manor all summer with the slit-eyed creature and his pet snake whooshing in and out at all hours.

  
    “Your bedrooms are upstairs to the right and left, a lavatory between the two to share.”

  
    Once again, McGonagall had snapped Draco back into his reality and the scowl reappeared on his porcelain face. Normally the Head Boy and Girl had a separate room within their house. This looked like a former professor’s living quarters, stately with its high windows and marble staircase against the far wall opposite the door, making the room look larger than what it really was.

  
    “You mean to tell me that I have to live with this filthy little—,” he had started toward the old witch before he realized what he was doing.

  
    “Mr. Malfoy!” she had drawn her wand and with a swift flick of her wrist he found himself launched backward into a plush sofa, his mouth bound shut with what felt like sticky glue. “Those words are the only thing that is filthy in here.”

  
    The older witch looked rather pleased with herself, glaring at him over the rim of her glasses with a conniving grin, but Hermione was unaffected by his words. The thin, scraggly haired girl was wandering around the common room taking it all in. Draco followed her with his eyes as she lightly brushed a hand along the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the coffee colored leather sofas, a mahogany desk, all in awe. She stopped when she got to the fireplace mantle, noticing their two house crests hanging above on the wall.

  
    “Are you sure I can’t just stay in my old room Professor?” Hermione turned around slowly, her face now serious. “The other girls won’t interfere in my responsibilities.”

  
    “While I’m sure you are correct Miss Granger, I cannot allow it,” McGonagall started, sounding disheartened. “I need you and Mr. Malfoy to be a team. You won’t be able to put a protection charm on your common room and then enter or exit. You would rely on Mr. Malfoy to do that every night and I’m sure you aren’t ready to trust him to do that.”

  
    “Try never,” she sank into a chair defeated.

  
    “Dinner will be ready soon. Try to get settled. That charm should work on Mr. Malfoy for another hour,” McGonagall reassuringly placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a small smile. “Remind me and I’ll teach it to you Miss. Granger.”

  
    Draco, still floundering around on the couch, put a hand to his mouth expecting to feel something pasty holding it together, but found nothing. He tried speaking again, but felt the silky strings of the invisible paste falling from his lips. Hermione watched from across the room, a tinge of amusement pulling at the sides of her mouth as the overly dressed Slytherin looked like a feeding fish. One lithe leg was in the air, laying against the back of the couch, the other with his shiny black oxfords planted to the floor. Leaning back, an elbow supported the remainder of his long torso. Finally realizing he looked ridiculous, he shot the young witch a fiery glare and she averted her gaze to her plain trunk sitting amongst his fancy one with golden embellishments, along with other various trunks of his filled with suits and potions and Quidditch supplies.

  
    “I’ll just be unpacking,” she informed him, taking her trunk by the handle and dragging it to the staircase.

  
    Draco watched as she left, completely unfeigned by his earlier temper and name-calling. Often, he had a difficult time trying to get a rise out of her. It was almost like a game to him, looking for the right button to push, to make her cry, piss her off, even give him a burning glare for half a second. But, the older they got the harder the game. Even Potter didn’t react the same as he used to, reserving only an eye roll for Malfoy’s snark.

  
    She took each step backwards one at a time, bending over and lugging the trunk with both hands. Knowing her, there were probably dozens of books weighing it down. He smirked and rolled his eyes at the sight, lifting himself off his elbow and standing. As soon as he took a step in her direction, however,  he caught himself and abruptly threw himself back down onto the cushions. He’d been raised to help a lady in need, however Granger was a different story.

 

*******

 

With a final big heave, Hermione’s trunk full of books, clothing, and other random essentials like pictures of her family and friends had made it to the top of the staircase. Still out of breath, face as red as a summer strawberry, she took in her new surroundings. The space around her was open to below and over the thick stone banister she could see Draco sitting on the couch still with his elbows resting on his knees, more composed than he was minutes ago. Behind her were large cathedral windows that almost stretched the full length of the wall. To her right was a small nook with an oversized velvet armchair and lamp, the kind she could imagine herself spending rainy days lounging in while reading the same book for the fifth or sixth time. Before her were three opened heavy wooden doors with ornate paneling covering each face. The one in the middle was the bathroom, the one she would be forced to share with Draco, and she followed the worn marble tiles inside it. Both were only children and not accustomed to sharing spaces, one more than the other due to growing up in a very large manor in the countryside. As she glanced around the tiny bathroom, with its single sink, toilet, and a shower stall, she could only imagine how badly, uncomfortable, and awkward this would turn out.

  
    The bedroom to the left was a decent size. There was a small desk, a chest of drawers, and a closet only big enough to fit a broom in. A window with a crevice she could slide into to sit and look out sat on one wall. Unlike her old dormitory, the bed in here was full-size and there were no posts or velvety curtains draped around it. There was just a simple wooden headboard and a bare mattress. She guessed her and her unwanted partner were supposed to decide amongst themselves who got which room.

  
    Quickly she dashed over to the other room and poked her head in to compare. It was much smaller, with a single bed and a chest of drawers. An armoire stood outside the door, she suspected because of lack of storage in what was obviously once a professor’s study. There were no windows. Not wanting to get stuck in a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare, she closed the door and began to pull her trunk into the other room, wanting to claim it before Draco did.

  
    Suddenly, one of Draco’s trunks landed nearly missing her with a thud followed by another and another. He sauntered up the steps, wand out, and a cocky smirk plastered across his pale face.

  
    “That’s the problem with you Mudbloods,” he said, holding his mouth in an awkward way like he’d had a stroke, the effects of McGonagall’s homemade hex. “You’re given the generous gift magic and you still want to do things the hard way, the stupid Muggle way. Didn’t even think to pull out your wand, did you Granger?”

  
    He stood before her, close enough to notice he was about half a foot taller than her, and that he smelled like ordinary soap, sweet and not expensive, breath-gasping choke you cologne. It reminded her of the way the countryside smelled on a cooler summer evening, like flowers and thick grass, and pine.

  
    “I see McGonagall’s charm didn’t last,” she replied, annoyed.

  
    “That old bat?” he scoffed.

  
    Ignoring him she continued to pull her trunk into her room, grunting with every tug, not giving in to his words and realizing magic would have already unpacked her. The fact was she was used to doing things this way, not just because she was from a muggle family, but because she didn’t want to turn lazy or feel over-privileged. Yes, she considered magic a wonderful a gift, but it didn’t need to be used for everything. When she was finally inside the door she stood up, feeling the wand in the pocket of her robes heavily.

  
    “I’m taking this one,” she said simply, looking at Draco and flicking her hidden wand to slam the door shut.

  
    She could hear him snort an unamused laugh on the other side before walking away. It only took a few seconds before she could hear his angry footfalls. The door swung open and he burst in.

  
    “No way!” he shouted. “I refuse to live in a broom closet.”

  
    “Have you ever heard of knocking before entering a lady’s room? And this is a broom closet,” Hermione stated, opening the closet door. “If you’d like, I could arrange for you to live in there instead.”

  
    “I have more belongings than you, I need this room,” he demanded, like the over-privileged spoiled child he was.

  
    “If you require the space that badly then one would think that you could make the Room of Requirement appear for you or use an extension charm to store your belongings. Surely such an experienced wizard as yourself with such great magical privileges would think of that,” she mocked, her voice thick with airy sarcasm.

  
    With that she flicked her wand once more and sent him spiraling backward, landing on his arse on the other side of the door. Dumbfounded, he scrambled up without saying a word and stood at the threshold scowling and starring before finally stalking off in a huff, unable to return with his own snarky comeback. Hermione opened her trunk and began unpacking the Muggle way only to annoy him more, taking the many books, notebooks, and knick knacks out of her charmed trunk one at a time and giving them a new home in her room.

  
    Malfoy was right, she could have been finished in half the time. Thirty or so minutes later Hermione sat on the edge of her new bed, a bright patterned quilt covering it neatly, finally noticing how empty her stomach felt. The grumbling and gurgling echoed inside her, making it feel even more cavernous. She could hear Draco in the next room cursing and muttering to himself. Every now and then something would fall to the floor with a clatter or a trunk would slam shut. He hadn’t continued to fight her for the room, hurrying away in defeat like a dog with its tail between its legs. This surprised her. Normally Draco wouldn’t back down and he always seemed like he had a hard-on for confrontation, especially when it came to her House or group of friends. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were notorious for their bickering back and forth like a set of selfish squirrels fighting over acorns.

  
    The gurgling in her stomach intensified suddenly and she was once again reminded that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning at the Weasley’s. She also hadn’t sent the boys an owl informing them of her arrival, but that could wait until after she was sated. Glancing at her watch, she decided to head to the Great Hall to meet Professor McGonagall for dinner.

  
    “Malfoy,” she said timidly, knocking on his door.

  
    Against her better judgement she chose to inform him of dinner instead of letting him wander down whenever he felt like it. McGonagall had said they needed to be a team and she knew he would do anything in his power to make it look like they weren’t playing on the same team. Her parents had raised her to be the better person when having to work with difficult people. When she was 10 a girl in her class had told her hair looked like a bird’s nest. It’d been when her mum found her in the bathroom about to chop off her hair in hopes of taming some of the frizz that she was sat down and told that life would be full of difficult people, more difficult than Julia Hart with her pin straight long silky hair, and that it was best to treat them in a way they wouldn’t expect of you, decent. The next day she’d gone to school, complimented Julia on her outfit, even though she secretly thought it was hideous, and didn’t have another issue the rest of the year. How Hermione wished her mum’s advice would work on Malfoy!

  
    “What the bloody hell do you want Granger?” he growled from the other side.

  
    “It—It’s just that…it’s time for dinner,” she responded, not reciprocating his tone.

  
    It was difficult to not react to his foulness, the jabs and insults. Hermione had learned to let some tones and snarkiness go through one ear and out the other without flinching, but still other times she wanted to whip out her wand and hex him. He wanted to strike a nerve and she tried to remind herself of that. She only hoped that now being around him more often wouldn’t actually bring her to hexing him.

  
    A few seconds later the door quietly clicked open and he appeared from behind it shrugging on his robes and stepping past her without a word down the staircase. He had changed and was dressed impeccably from head to toe in what she was sure were the highest quality black dress trousers, dress shirt,and a dark forest green jumper that looked soft like a baby lamb (definitely not a thought one thinks when they think of Malfoy.) Once again she was taken aback by his unwillingness to fight her. Sure, he had answered in a nasty tone and he didn’t acknowledge she was standing on the other side, but she’d come to expect more defensiveness when she spoke with him.

  
    Outside their dormitory door Draco stopped and looked around at his surroundings.  Hermione approached from behind and had opened her mouth to tell him which way to turn, but he stomped off in the opposite direction. She shrugged it off and leisurely walked to the staircase that would take her down to the Great Hall the quickest. The wide corridor was dimly lit by candles flickering silently on the wall. There were dark, more narrow halls leading off from this, hiding secret doors down their passages.This part of the castle was somewhat familiar to her because it was near Gryffindor Tower, but down a hallway that students normally didn’t go down every day because it housed a few teacher dormitories and offices. She had assumed Draco knew what he was doing until she heard the quick clicks of nice shoes hitting the hard stone floor.

  
    “Granger…wait…up,” Draco panted behind her.

  
    She whirled around to see him jogging up to her, his normally pale face flushed red on the high part of his cheeks and his blue-gray eyes looking more fearful than angry.

  
    “The bloody stairs on that end of the hallway are a trap,” he breathed, bent over with his hands on his knees. “Turned into a slide the moment I stepped foot on them.”

  
    “That’s because this is a staff wing of the school,” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the desperate tone in his voice. “That was the teachers’ staircase so that they can get to and from classrooms quicker. Didn’t you hear Professor McGonagall tell us earlier to take the student stairway on this end of the hall closest to our dormitory?”

  
    Draco ignored her, not wanting to admit he wasn’t paying attention earlier. McGonagall had explained why they were being housed together here instead of in their respective Houses in another part of the castle with the student population. It was central. It was safe. While admittedly she hated sharing a dormitory with Draco, she personally felt safer knowing her professors, more experienced witches and wizards, would be close by.

  
    “And where would that slide have taken me?”

  
    “Probably back where you belong in the dungeon,” she said, losing the humor in her voice from a few moments prior.

  
    The rest of their walk to the Great Hall was silent except for the in-sync echo of their footfalls down the bare hallways. When they pushed open the heavy door to the Great Hall and crossed the threshold numerous pairs of eyes turned to look at them, some confused. Hermione could see why. First, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin together was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs, without magic. Second, none of the professors seated at the large table down the center of the room probably expected Draco Malfoy to return to Hogwarts. Even though McGonagall claimed Draco didn’t murder Dumbledore, others like Hermione probably didn’t believe it to be true or understand it. However, she suddenly felt bad for him having so many accusatory glares following his trail to the table.

  
  
********

  
    Draco could feel tenseness thicken the second he stepped into the room. It was like walking into a very dense forest, unable to move or see a foot ahead of you. All those eyes on him, it was like a branch could snap at him any second. He made eye contact with McGonagall and his empty seat and continued to move forward, stoic. Let them think what they wanted, he knew what he was and what he wasn’t.

  
    McGonagall, the only person in the room acting like it wasn’t one of the world’s biggest oddities seeing the two of them together, stood to greet them.

  
    “So glad that the pair of you finally found your way down to join us,” she said joyfully, a bit of falseness to her tone, a ruse to assure the other teachers everything was fine. “Please, sit. I take it you’ve settled into your rooms nicely?”

  
    Draco gave a snort, making the rest of the room jump.

  
    “If you could call a broom closet a bedroom,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  
It was the first thing he’d said since entering the Great Hall. For the most part he’d been looking straight ahead, scowling at the wall or the floating candlesticks. Hermione could see the relief wash over the others’ faces as they realized this was the same old Draco, like finally something typical had occurred.

  
    “As you can see, there are fewer of us this year,” McGonagall addressed the staff and two Heads.

  
    Beside him, Hermione began loading her golden plate full of beef and potatoes and other delicious, familiar smells filling his nose. Draco picked at the few bits of food he had put onto his. As delectable as it all looked, he hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. It was no wonder his face looked thinner, sicklier. He ate like a bird.

  
    “There were some who didn’t feel Hogwarts was safe anymore. Unfortunately that leaves us a little understaffed. Now, I’ve filled some positions with temporary teachers who will use the floo network in my office to come and go as they please on different days. It will only be open at specified times and those will change regularly. Only I and those professors using it will know of these times.”

  
    The remaining professors at the table all nodded their heads in understanding. She went on to explain how she had gone to great lengths to keep the floo network protected with various wards. Then, she began explaining that she was unable to fill the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. This wasn’t surprising to Draco, he’d heard the rumors the position was cursed and seen for himself a new professor taking the position each year. Now, all heads of house were required to share in the position, each taking a different month. Severus Snape would not be returning.

  
    “Why did he leave?” Draco said conversationally, gazing up at McGonagall from his plate like an innocent who knew nothing more.

  
    Draco was unaware that Harry had told Hermione of Snape’s whereabouts at the Astronomy tower the fatal night of Dumbledore’s death, unaware that Harry had even been present. He had disarmed Harry quietly, but just when he thought Snape was going to step in for the Light side, he turned out to be exactly the person Harry and his friends had thought him to be from the beginning. Snape had been a Death Eater all along.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see I've got some response to my story so far. I have some shorter chapters in the beginning so I'm trying to combine them when I edit. So this week you're kind of getting a two for one deal. Things are starting to get more plotty and hopefully by now the characters are a bit more developed as well. This fic will be a Dramione fic, but I like it to happen slowly. Enjoy and I'll post another chapter next week sometime!
> 
> p.s.-there may be a few extra mistakes this week because I forgot to spellcheck before I copy-pasted into the text box. oops!

    McGonagall visibly tensed at Draco’s question, her tiny beaded eyes wincing behind her wiry spectacles. Why did Snape leave? It echoed all the way into the magicked night sky of the ceiling. He had asked so plainatively, like he had asked what they would be having for dessert, but after decades of teaching she knew when a student was intentionally challenging her. The professors at the table at all looked up from their meals and looked not at Draco, but at McGonagall expectantly.

  
    “Professor Snape left us for personal reasons that I’ve already shared with the rest of the staff,” she replied, hesitation in her voice.

  
    She took a drink from the goblet sitting to her right and cleared her throat ready to change the subject. Pity that it wasn’t something stronger than pumpkin juice. The other teachers had been informed of Severus’ actions, although they knew as little as possible. They deserved more than that she knew, but now was not the time to bring up the finer points of the two men’s friendship. It was need to know. Dumbledore and Snape both preferred to keep their lives private, Snape for obvious reasons pertaining to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore though, sometimes McGonagall thought it was solely to infuriate and confuse her.

  
    Draco cursed under his breath. “Excuse me Mr. Malfoy?” she said enunciating each word slowly.

  
    “For fucks sake woman,” he bursted out, pushing his chair from behind him.

  
    “Mr. Malfoy!” she shouted over him, regaining her composure and slamming two hands onto the table on either side of her dinner plate. “You will not talk to your headmistress in such a way!”

  
    “And I won’t sit here and listen to you lie and pretend like it’s going to be a normal happy school year where everyone will bake cookies and braid each other’s hair. Tell them what really happened Professor!”

  
    “I can assure you that they know just as much as Miss Granger and yourself do,” she made a point to look at him over the rims of her glasses when she mentioned him. Need to know meant that no one else in the school needed to learn of Malfoy’s shortcomings. Stick to the facts of what happened, not how they unfolded.

  
    Draco starred her down from his place across the table, his fists balled up under the sleeves of his robes. After a few more seconds he turned gracefully on his heel, shoving the chair to the floor behind him, and stormed out of the Great Hall. Everyone starred at their plate, avoiding being pulled into the dramatics before them. McGonagall sat back down in a gentle ruffle of robes and defeat. The rest of dinner was silent, save for the clattering of dishware and utensils.   
  
*******  
  
    Hermione couldn’t finish eating quick enough and made an excuse to leave before dessert appeared. It hadn’t been entirely untrue of an excuse either.

  
    “I’m really very tired,” she had said, trying to fake sounding regretful. “It’s been a long day, and Harry and Ron were expecting my owl hours ago. They’re probably worried sick.”

  
    Finally free of the heavy tension radiating around the dinner table, she lagged her way up to the owlery, wondering how to put into words the strangeness of her first day as Head Girl. They would want to know every detail, especially what was being said by the teachers about Dumbledore’s death. That was easy because no one spoke a word at dinner after Malfoy’s tantrum. She cringed at how the pair of them would react to Malfoy being Head Boy, remembering they still didn’t know. They would be appalled, Ron more so amused, scared for her safety, angry, especially Harry. It hadn’t been but a couple of months since he saw Malfoy fire a curse at Dumbledore and had been hexed by Snape trying to flee the scene with the accused party. Would they even come back to Hogwarts with a Death Eater running loose? She couldn’t stand the thought of being at Hogwarts without them or not being there to help her friends fight.

  
    At the top of the owlery tower, she pushed the door open, the earthy combination of bird seed, dead mice, and feathers hitting her nose. Dropping her bag to the floor to fumble for a piece of parchment and a quill, she didn’t hear the soft footsteps coming up beside her. In fact, she didn’t notice him there at all until she stood and was only a few inches from him, her nose inches from his chest. She yelped, stepping backward, the quill and parchment flying from her hands. On a normal day Hermione wouldn’t be so jumpy, but the fact that Malfoy had suddenly appeared from the shadows and they were alone at the top of a tower didn’t bring good vibes.

  
    “Oh come on Granger,” Malfoy mocked. “Who did you think I was? Voldemort?”

  
He flipped the hood of his cloak onto his head and waved his arms at her like he was a Halloween spook.

  
    “What on earth are you doing here Malfoy?” she groaned, retrieving her writing utensils from the mucked up floor and trying not to be intimidated.

  
    “Shame your quill is covered in shit,” he teased, the lilt in his voice bored.

  
    “If you’re done here just go,” she stated, sitting down in a window sill to write out her letter to Harry and Ron.

  
    “I’d let you use mine, but it was expensive and I don’t need it covered in shit either.”

  
Hermione continued to write, ignoring the blond’s taunts from the doorway.   
  
_Dear Harry and Ron,_  
  
 _I made it back to Hogwarts fine. Unfortunately, Malfoy is Head Boy. I’m not sure if McGonagall is in her right mind since Dumbledore’s death, but I trust that this is important somehow so I won’t give up my title. I promise I’ll be careful around him. Please don’t be upset with me._  
 _The staff dinner was a bit strange as well, but I’ll save that story for when I see you both. I can tell you, however, that Snape will not be returning to Hogwarts. McGonagall said it was due to personal reasons but I think..._  
  
    “Are you finished with your love letter yet?” Malfoy drawled lazily, peering down overtop of her.

His presence shadowed her, feeling impatient, weighty, nervous. He plucked the letter from under Hermione’s grasp and held it up to the light of the window to read. He rolled his eyes and threw it back at her, then he began to stalk toward the open doorway, but stopped like he was going to turn around and say something. Hermione waited expectantly.

  
    “Just spit out whatever vile thing you have to say and leave me be already,” she demanded, carefully incase he may have another outburst like the one at dinner. He slowly turned to face her.

  
    “I don’t know how to get back to our dormitory,” he grumbled.   
  
*******  
  
    The only reason he had come to the owlery when he stormed out of the Great Hall was because he knew Granger would eventually need to send those dimwitted friends of hers a letter. He tried to get back to the dormitory on his own and had made it to the correct corridor, but couldn’t remember which portrait was the right one or the password. If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t that he didn’t remember, he had no idea in the first place. He hadn’t cared enough earlier to pay attention to his surroundings, except to remember not to take the staircase to the left.

  
    Without responding or even reacting to his admittance, Granger finished and signed her note and tied it to the leg of a tiny dark chocolate colored owl with bright green eyes. It reminded him of his mother’s owl, Hercules, puny ball of feathers. Then, she opened the window and let it fly out into the sunset, a look on her face that said she wished should could take its place and fly away from him. Still wordless, she moved to the door and a small knowing smile crept up her cheeks. He needed her and he hated it.

  
    “Third floor, down the right corridor,” Granger repeated to a following Draco.

   He’d been trying to keep his distance, from five yards back. Sure, there may have been no other students in the castle at the time to notice, but he was playing it safe so she didn’t think it was alright to strike up a conversation with him any time they would make their nighttime rounds in the future. His Slytherin reputation was on the line, his family’s name would be laughed at. He couldn’t be seen with her kind, a mudblood, not worthy to hone in on their magical abilities. Lots of people in the world had something special about them. What made the mudbloods special enough to learn about a gift they didn’t even know they had until some strange man in funny clothes showed up at their doorstep to pronounce them a witch or wizard?  
  
******  
  
    “Ours is the third portrait,” she continued in her know-it-all voice. “The first two are fake entries.”

  
    She had read all about how to tell the difference between door portraits and faux door portraits in Hogwarts, A History. The short and rarely noticed chapter, which had been located between faux pages in the book, had stated that a portrait door’s frame would always be wooden. However, some were fake as an extra layer of defense and the only way you could tell was by looking at the portrait itself. If it was a faux door, then there would be another door in the scenery of the painting. The first two doors down their hall were of previous Hogwarts professors, but in one portrait the castle loomed on the hill in the background with the front door clearly showing and the second portrait was of a rusty haired man standing in front of a wooden barn, the barn door clearly open and animals strolling in and out.

  
    “Good Evening Sir Neale,” Hermione said politely, walking up to their portrait of the curly mustached knight. The only other scenery in Sir Neale the Observant’s portrait was a stiff wooden chair with red velvet cushions, a woolen blanket thrown over its back.

  
    “Good evening to you as well Miss Granger,” replied the portrait. “Do you have the password? I saw your tall friend there strolling this hallway earlier like he was lost. I’m glad he found you.”

  
    Malfoy huffed under his breath, “We’re not friends.”

  
Hermione rolled her eyes, whispered “chocolate pudding,” wished the portrait a good night, and walked into her shared dormitory suite.

  
    “Do you need me to write down the password for you to keep in your pockets?” she inquired, setting her bag down on the couch and sliding off her outer robes.

  
    “Need you to write it down? I know how to write mudblood, spell too if you can believe it,” Malfoy continued to walk to the stairs and straight up, hands shoved into his pockets and a scowl across his face.

  
    “A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” she shouted after him, her voice trailing off into the ceiling as he slammed his door shut.

  
    Hermione woke the next morning to a persistent tapping at her window. Three owls perched on the sill, all with letters tied to their feet, all with their beaks to the glass. One of them was Hedwig, Harry’s snowy white owl. Digging into the nightstand beside her bed, she pulled out a small handful of treats before opening the window to gather the letters. She and Harry had developed an owl treat one summer while staying with the Weasleys that didn’t involve keeping dead mice on your person. Of course, the treat had powdered rat tail in it, but at least it didn’t smell up her belongings. She took Hedwig’s letter from Harry first, happily putting the treat in her beak without a nip and giving her a pat on the head. She was soft, her feathers smooth, but  pillowy. Another runty looking owl she didn’t recognize lunged at her, snapping its beak at her hand. Obviously it didn’t like being ignored and when she collected the letter from it and looked at who it was for she wasn’t at all surprised. Of course Malfoy’s owl is a prat like him. The last was a note from McGonagall and she opened it immediately.   
  
_Miss Granger,_  
  
 _Please meet with me in my office before breakfast. Only bring yourself._  
  
 _Professor McGonagall_  
  
    The note wasn’t very specific, and vague for the usually eloquent-spoken McGonagall. Taking a guess that all Professor McGonagall wanted to do was show her a few spells to help her deal with living and working alongside Malfoy, Hermione took her time getting ready. After they had returned to the common room yesterday evening, Draco had shut himself up in his tiny windowless room. She hadn’t heard him come out once, not for a snack, a book, not even the loo and she would know because she had sat at the long plank wood table in the common room well after midnight making a list of duties and responsibilities that would need divided among the prefects.

  
    Creeping off the edge of her bed where she had laid the letters, she tiptoed to the door. The wood beneath her was as cold as the stone walls, the chill going straight to the bone of her bare feet. This new bedroom was rather bare bones compared to the one she’d once shared with the Gryffindor girls of her year, a reminder that she needed a rug. Once at the door she pressed her ear to a flat surface near the crack, listening. To be honest, she was apprehensive about running into Malfoy first thing in the morning. If he was foul in the middle of the day, she was sure she didn’t want to meet him after being roused from sleep before he had tea or coffee, whichever arrogant gits preferred.

  
    Silence greeted her ears, but to be doubly sure of herself she knelt and laid her head on the ground, her fuzzy, bed mussed curls splaying against the dark hardwood. She peeked under the crack of the door for movement, a shadow, a dust bunny, anything, but stillness greeted her. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hopped up and began pulling clothes from the dresser to take a shower.

  
    “Ughhhh,” she groaned aloud, sinking to the floor.

  
    As soon as she wrapped a hand on the knob of her door she heard Malfoy’s door open and the bathroom door click shut. She sat like that for awhile, banging her head off her knees slid up to her chest, but the chances of him just waking up to use the toilet were slim. After 30 minutes, she stood and undressed.

  
    “Tergeo,” she chanted, running her wand down her body.

   Cleaning charms weren’t her forte because she preferred the real thing, the feeling of the dirt and grime of the day rinsing away. Ron was much more practiced at cleaning charms. She’d seen Harry and Ron use it dozens of times to quickly rid themselves of any stink in order to sleep-in longer before classes. A proper shower could wait until after breakfast she supposed, and she could stop at one of the girl’s restrooms on her way to McGonagall’s office to use the toilet. She only hoped Malfoy wouldn’t hog the loo like this every morning. Wasn’t this supposed to be the other way around, with her hogging the bathroom to pretty herself?

  
    Even though it was the end of summer, the castle was still quite chilly in the mornings so she pulled a gray hooded jumper over her head, then slid into a pair of worn jeans that clung to all the right places and were frayed a bit at one knee and a thigh. Now hearing the shower running in the bathroom, she pulled open her door and bounced down the stairs quick. She tossed Malfoy’s letter on the table before taking down the wards on the entrance she had to set alone last night and poking her head out into the deserted hallway.

  
    The morning was beautiful, bright sun pouring from the windows and splashing against the stone floors and walls of the corridors. Hermione made a mental note to spend some time outside reading in the warmth and green of the Hogwart’s grounds. Maybe, she would even take her breakfast out with her if Malfoy was still being confrontational. At the bottom of the staircase to Professor McGonagall’s office she spoke the password given at the bottom of the letter she’d received, catnip, and waited for the gargoyle to slide into the wall to reveal the steps. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to Dumbledore not being around, his candy themed passwords, how his sparkling blue eyes could ease her doubts because they reminded her of completely cloudless days. It wasn’t that she didn’t like McGonagall, Hermione thought she was a wonderful teacher. But, the headmistress had a tense sterness about her that made the young witch feel on edge a lot of the time, as if she needed to stand solid and still like a soldier in her prescence. Even walking up the steps she noticed her nervous tick as she pulled a springy curl into a wave.

  
    The door to the office swung open, her arrival expected and foreseen (probably by a portrait just outside).

  
     “I’m glad you could finally join me Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “I was beginning to think my owl had made a detour this morning.”

  
    “Sorry, Professor. I was getting ready.”

  
   McGonagall noticeably took in the witch’s slightly disshelved appearance and made a face reserved for when a student had eaten one of Fred and George’s puking pastels before class. Hermione’s her was fuzzed and pulled back into a pony tail that had fallen further down her head on the walk over. She had on a sweatshirt and jeans instead of her school robes. And finally, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of type of the jitters she always got when she was accidentally late for Transfiguration because of Harry or Ron.

  
    “It’s not a problem,” said the older witch with a tight smile. “I wanted to speak with you about Mr. Malfoy.”

 

*******

 

    “How was your first night in the Head suite Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall’s voice turned friendly, in the same way the girls gossiped in their beds late at night in the dormitories, divergent of her normal scornful tone. “Did Mr. Malfoy give you any problems?”

  
    Hermione stuttered, “U-uhh.” The headmistress wasn’t used to seeing her best student at a loss for words. Her rumpled and bed-headed pupil took a noticeable gulp before finally composing herself again. “It was like I expected it, to be honest, professor.”

  
    McGonagall continued to stare at her, anticipation mixed with apprehension. Hermione’s answer wasn’t one she was expecting. Their history was a checkered one, one student always trying to up the other, which usually ended in racial slur on Malfoy’s end. Her Head Girl was holding back. She sat on the edge of the large ornately golden high back chair like she was ready to jump up and head into battle, but her beetle black eyes said that she had been waiting impatiently to hear from Hermione all morning. Taking it as a cue that she wanted to hear more, Hermione mustered up a better explanation.

  
    “He stayed in his bedroom all evening and I never saw him again,” Hermione added. “I heard him moving around this morning though, so he’s still here. Although, I can’t imagine why.”

She bit out the last sentence coldly.

  
    At her words, McGonagall repositioned herself in the chair and leaned into its back, folding her hands together on top of the heavy desk. She sighed deep and removed her glasses before speaking again, trying to find the courage to say what she needed. The woman had stood unwavering by her Gryffindors through any fight, even when she knew they had been wrong, such as the case usually with the Golden Trio. But now, it seemed as if she was having trouble with finding the right words.

  
    If Hermione didn't have any complaints about Draco, besides the fact that she loathed him in general, then this arrangement could possibly work McGonagall thought. She didn’t understand it, but she didn’t understand half the things Dumbledore did, even beyond the grave.

  
    “Miss Granger,” she began unsteadily. “I feel as if I owe you an explanation…as to why I chose Draco Malfoy as Head Boy.”

  
    Hermione’s interest perked at this, her head and brown eyes giving a sharp jolt in McGonagall’s direction. Draco Malfoy was put into a prestigious position, one usually only given to students in their professors’ good graces. Hermione’s astonishment and anger since she stepped foot in this same office yesterday and saw Malfoy lazily sitting in this same chair would have left anyone wondering if McGonagall had gone completely nutters. The boy had almost no redeeming qualities. He was clever, always finding ways to put the spotlight on another student in a negative way, making himself look better by default for turning in a guilty party, and the ladies at Hogwarts seemed to find him exceptionally good-looking. Head Boy and Girl were supposed to be honest and decent though and he was neither. Draco had anything but an outstanding reputation at Hogwarts.

  
    “Before I begin, I need you to swear to me that you won’t speak a word of this to Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. I have to warn you that doing so could put your friends at great risk.”

  
    “I promise I won’t Professor,” she replied softly, her brow furrowed with worry. “You can trust that I won’t do anything to jeopardize their safety.”

  
    “The night Dumbledore was murdered in the astronomy tower, the curse wasn’t cast by Mr. Malfoy. It was Professor Snape,” McGonagall started, the tension in her body language easing up slightly after it had been said.

  
    “But then why…why,” Hermione’s mind worked to put together the puzzle piece by piece. “Why was Malfoy even there? Harry told us he’d seen Malfoy from below.”

  
    “It’s true that Mr. Malfoy was inducted as a Death Eater last year, on his father’s orders. But, then he was given the order by the Dark Lord himself to kill Professor Dumbledore. He was behind the cursed necklace that nearly killed Katie Bell and he was also behind the wine laced with poison that your friend Mr. Weasley ingested. All were intended to somehow get to Professor Dumbledore.” 

  
*******  
  
    Hermione’s mind was swimming with the events that had occurred the previous year, how many times Harry had accused Malfoy of being a Death Eater, watching Malfoy wither away like a terminally ill patient, seeing Dumbledore laying lifeless on the bricks in the courtyard. It was all coming back to her so suddenly that she now felt as if she were drowning in the memories. If she could only get back to the surface to hear what Professor McGonagall was saying. She could see the professor’s mouth moving, her eye contact, but she couldn’t hear her words through the screams of Katie or Ron’s moans as he lay under the starched white sheets of the hospital wing.

  
    “How you three end up—Miss Granger,” McGonagall had noticed Hermione’s glazed over eyes and suddenly pale face. “Miss Granger are you alright?”

  
    She said the last part louder and it broke Hermione out of her panic, her eyelids fluttering quickly and taking in the scene of the office. The large furniture. The pensive in the corner. Large glass-doored cabinets. The sorting hat high up on the shelf looking down on her judgementally. And, Professor Dumbledore, in a portrait on the wall. He looked down on them both, a twinkle in his eye. Noticing the color come back to the young witch’s face, the headmistress pushed a bowl of dark chocolates toward her and continued speaking.

  
    “After Malfoy was cursed by Potter last spring he came to Professor Dumbledore and told him of You-Know-Who’s plans. The Malfoys would have been killed if he didn’t follow through by the end of the term.”

  
    “I’m not sure I understand entirely Professor,” Hermione said weakly. “If Snape murdered Dumbledore, then why has the Dark Lord allowed Malfoy to live?”

  
    “Albus’s last request of me was to insure the Malfoy boy’s life would be safe after he was gone. His last request of Severus, however, was…well…I can only imagine that Severus has kept the boy safe this summer. Draco Malfoy means a great deal to him.”

  
    The headmistress stopped speaking and rubbed the bridge of her nose between eyes that had gained a few extra wrinkles recently. Dumbledore gave an approving look from his portrait and she flashed him an annoyed glare. He looked at them apologetically before taking his leave and stepping out of the portrait.   
    They sat in silence for a few minutes while Hermione repeated the story in her head. Only the ticking of the dozens of antique clocks on the shelves could be heard. She was a very logical witch. Draco Malfoy fearing for his life? Scared of the Dark Lord? Dumbledore wanting to keep the enemy safe? None of it made sense, but something inside her still wanted to trust the headmistress.

  
    “I’m sorry Professor, but,” Hermione said unsure of herself. “How exactly does all that make Draco deserving of the Head Boy title?”

  
    “I need your help,” the Headmistress replied wearily, her voice cracking every so slightly. “Keep him safe. He knows its for his own good, but he doesn’t want to accept it. Aside from sticking him in my own quarters, with you is the safest place for him to reside.”

  
    “But he’s still a Death Eater,” she argued, her cheeks beginning to heat. “How do we know he doesn’t have his own agenda and just wants to keep his family’s and his own arse safe?”

  
    “While I do agree that he can be a bit of a selfish and entitled—.”

  
    “A bit?” Hermione interrupted, her voice rising, incredulous.

  
    “—I have to trust Professor Dumbledore’s wishes. He asked that Professor Snape and Draco be protected and before his passing I vowed that I would do my best to help them.” 

  
*******  
  
    Hours later Hermione sat outside in the warm sun, her back against her favorite tree near the lake. The surface of the lake was like a mirror, the reflection of puffy clouds passing by quickly. Any small disturbance to it created hundreds of concentric ripples that stretched for miles. A copy of Hogwarts, a History lay by her side in the viridian grass, a parchment notebook and a quill in her lap. She had come outside to organize the Head and Prefect duties. The list wasn’t a mile long yet, but in her mind it already was. Her and Malfoy’s Head duty schedule needed made, Prefects needed corridor assignments and duties, guidelines for Prefect meetings needed to be created. But, every time she looked down at the parchment, it was still blank aside from labeling the pages in various colors of ink. She couldn’t focus on the task in front of her, not after talking with McGonagall earlier.

  
    She hadn’t been back to the dormitory yet either, unsure what she would say or do when she encountered Malfoy. Was he allowed to know that she knew? How was she supposed to keep him safe, her sworn enemy of 6 years, the boy who called her a mudblood and ridiculed her heritage that he knew nothing about? Did she even want to protect him? Should she treat him any differently now that she knew these things about him? She had to decide the answer to most of her questions quickly, because suddenly a figure dressed sharply in all black walked out the castle door in the distance and began strutting down toward her at the lake.

  
    “Granger,” he stated the obvious when he reached her, his eyes not meeting hers when he said her name.

  
    “What do you want Malfoy?” she asked exasperated, but continuing to use the mutatio charm to change the color of the ink on her parchment from black to purple to green in an attempt to show him she could use magic for everyday things. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  
    “With what?” he looked down at her parchment and guffawed. “It looks like a whole lot of nothing to me.”

  
    Hermione stood and hastily grabbed her belongings, slinging them into her bag. She moved to push past him, but he blocked her, his tall, slender figure looming over her, hands half up either in defense or an attempt to not accidentally touch her.

  
    “Wait,” he said quickly. “I came to find you to see when we were going to make the Prefect schedules…or maybe you already have.”

  
    At the last part he smirked, now fully aware she hadn’t gotten further than titling each parchment.

  
    “You actually wanted to work on them together?” she scoffed in disbelief.

  
She didn’t expect him to do any work, much less work together on something. He had to know he didn’t really deserve to be Head Boy, that it’d been given to him on a technicality. Maybe she did have the wrong idea of him. Balancing her bag on her knee, she pulled out various parchments labeled with the different schedules out of her notebook.

  
    “I didn’t think you’d want to,” she said. “I mean I didn’t even expect you to help me at all with Head duties.”

  
    “Help you, mudblood? I'm not helping you. I'm doing _my_ Head duties,” he sneered. “Father was extremely proud I made Head Boy. I don’t plan to let him down either.”

  
    Malfoy puffed out his chest proudly and Hermione staggered backward.

  
    “I’m sure he’s very proud of you from Azkaban,” she said pointedly, finding the courage to come back with a retort.

  
    With an exaggerated dramatic eye roll, Malfoy yanked one of the Prefect schedules from her hands and stomped up the gently sweeping hillside to the castle. Hermione was once again left shocked, his only retaliation to storm off in anger instead of hexing or cursing at her with his usual biting tongue.   
      
      
      
   


End file.
